


A Truth Universally Acknowledged

by betternovembers



Category: Big Bang Theory
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Arranged Marriage, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:51:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betternovembers/pseuds/betternovembers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheldon Cooper is the last of his line, and in need of a wife according to his meddlesome grandmother. The one she finds him is more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Truth Universally Acknowledged

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fujiidom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fujiidom/gifts).



> Written for the Very Merry Saturnalia 2011 challenge at Paradox. Pure crack (plus I'm sure tons of historical inaccuracies). In this story, Meemaw will be played by Maggie Smith. Thanks to allthingsholy for the read through.

When his grandmother returned to the great house, reeking of pipe smoke and Beefeater’s London Dry, Sheldon watched as she waived off the girl waiting to take her shawl. Sheldon frowned. Ramona was merely performing her duties, and his day had already been long enough. The last thing he needed was an intoxicated argument over his prospects once again with Meemaw.

“I have found you a wife,” she announced without preamble but with much pleasure.

Sheldon sighed and gestured for Ramona to give them the room. “And where have you found this one? At Smithfield Market?”

“How very droll. Really Sheldon, it is a wonder that none of the women I have brought here have stayed to witness your astounding humor.” She pulled a Playbill from her bag and smoothed the cover a bit before she passed it to him. He should have known, the theatre, of all places. And as he peered at the cover, he discovered it grew even worse.

“A burlesque, Grandmother? Really?”

“I seem to recall that you greatly enjoyed _This House to be Sold_ when you saw it last, which was merely six months ago. If that.”

He brushed this point aside. Coyne was certainly decent with a turn of phrase, and he had been known to take in shows. He was a particular fan of Shakespeare of course, and the classics, but a burlesque certainly couldn’t be counted among them. “If you are proposing I marry an actress, and not even one that can manage proper Shakespeare—”

“Not only an actress, but an American.”

It was at this point that he wished he had not waited up for her and had simply gone to bed. An American. An uncouth, unlearned, probably unwashed American. Not that he had any intent to marry, regardless, as he was nearly upon a breakthrough in his work at University. Grandmother never had any interest in or respect for his work, preferring instead to drag an endless parade of boring, well-dressed ladies through the sitting room. They would drink tea and eat biscuits, and Meemaw would do her best and he would merely sit, aloof and entirely uninterested in the latest fashions or upcoming trips to the Continent, and he would never see them again. It was an arrangement he had found annoying, but tolerable if it meant that he would stay a bachelor.

“I have found you a wife, my dear boy, and this time I think it shall stick. I have arranged it all tonight. The terms were quite favorable.”

Flabbergasted was not a strong enough word. Dumbstruck, perhaps. He was completely confounded. While he struggled to overcome his silence, his grandmother rang the bell.

It wasn’t even a slight pause before his butler entered. “Koothrappali, excellent,” his grandmother said. “We are in need of champagne. Sheldon is finally to become a husband.”

It was a lucky thing Koothrappali did not smile. Sheldon had finally grown used to him, and would have hated to let him go.

“Surely this is a matter that can wait?”

“I assure you she’s a lovely girl. A good temper, if she is to tolerate yours. Perhaps she is not a University level student, but she’s quick. The matter is closed, Sheldon, if you’d care to inherit my estate.”

Koothrappali entered with a bottle from the cellar, and neatly poured them two flutes.

“To marital bliss,” Meemaw said. Her eyes seemed to twinkle as she drank her champagne, even if such an effect was physically impossible.

“If I am to marry—”

“When you are to marry, Sheldon.” Her good humor was unwavering. Sheldon found it disturbing.

“What is her name?”

“Miss Penny Edwards. We will have her for luncheon tomorrow, so I would like it very much if you would at least pretend to be polite. And if you will excuse me, the road from London felt much longer tonight while I held such news. I shall see you in the morning at breakfast.”

She kissed his cheek as she passed him, and handed the butler her empty glass.

Sheldon could only watch her climb the stairs in a uneasy silence that verged on brooding.

“My congratulations, sir.” Koothrappali’s head was bent with respect, but Sheldon could hear an edge of amusement creeping into his tone.

“Good lord, not you too.”

Stomping up the stairs to his bedroom wasn’t exactly his most dignified moment, but even he could admit it was quite satisfying.

 

 

To say luncheon was an unmitigated disaster would not only be an understatement, it would have been a disservice to unmitigated disasters everywhere. (And the most unfortunate part of it all, he would come to think later, was that somehow he could shoulder most of the blame for it.) All of Sheldon’s suspicions about Miss Edwards were correct. She was indeed uncouth, and certainly unlearned, although he had to concede that she had bathed that morning. Yet none of these problems seemed to concern his grandmother, who blithely ignored Miss Edwards’ complete ignorance of dining etiquette. They had mostly talked amongst themselves while they dined, as Sheldon tried in vain to pretend as if they weren’t discussing potential wedding dates. If nothing else, the meal itself was finished and they had moved on to coffee and brandy, neither of which Sheldon drank. Miss Edwards chose coffee, which she then doctored until it primarily consisted of cream and sugar, and his grandmother took a healthy pour of brandy, as was her custom. In the meantime, he considered his options for salvaging the conversation that could double as proof why the match was terribly ill-suited.

Just as he opened his mouth to inquire her opinion on the ramifications of Rudolph Clausius’ most recent paper ( _Über die bewegende Kraft der Wärme_ , which of course he had read in the original German), Miss Edwards turned to him and said, “Your grandmother told me very little about you, beyond your good looks and permanent bachelorhood, Mr. Cooper.”

“I am a Viscount, Miss Edwards. I ceased being Mr. Cooper when my father died.”

She at least had the good sense to look embarrassed. “I apologize,” she said. “My Lord,” she started, then glanced at his grandmother to confirm her choice of words. His grandmother nodded slightly, not looking at him—the traitor. “Do you work? If that is not too forward a question?”

“Much to my grandmother’s eternal disappointment, I am not content to spend my days here at the estate, presiding over trifles and walking the gardens. I have spent my life, from a very early age, studying the sciences. I hold an office at the University of London.”

“You must be very smart.”

“Very smart?” His tone verged on indignant.

“Yes,” she said, with that same dangerous twinkling look to her eye that he dreaded seeing on his grandmother’s face, “perhaps your intelligence even outweighs your good looks.”

“What good looks?” he said, before he could stop himself. Miss Edwards and his grandmother exchanged another glance, and politely hid their smiles.

Meemaw finally took pity on him. “My grandson is also a visiting professor at the Universität Heidelberg.”

Miss Edwards smiled. “It sounds prestigious.”

“Well, of course it’s prestigious. It’s the oldest university in Germany. What do they teach you in that godforsaken country?”

“To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t much for school. I found it much more educational to be on the farm, and helpful to my parents. I preferred to learn how to butcher a pig or birth a calf, or work with my father’s equipment to try and improve its performance.”

The pinch of his fingers on the bridge of his nose was comforting, in its own way. It tethered him to his pique. “What sort of lady are you?”

Even Meemaw had the good graces to look scandalized when Miss Edwards replied, “A lady that is very skilled with her hands.” She smiled, bitterly. “And perhaps also a lady that is more aware of the scholastic system in America and the challenges that a woman must face to receive any sort of formal education.”

Sheldon did not usually care overmuch if he angered his potential suitors, but in this particular instance even he was able to admit that he felt a right bastard. “I did not know. I apologize if I offended you.”

“Of course you did not know. According to the papers over here, we Americans are all slave-holding brutes, who never wash and default on our all debts, and are generally without laws or manners or good sense. And we are certainly not good enough to marry into good English blood unless the dowry is right.”

Meemaw opened her mouth to protest, but Miss Edwards raised her hand. “No, Lady Cooper, I do not mean to act as if I am ungrateful for our arrangement, or for the opportunity you have given me. But I do think your grandson needs to come to terms with it before we can make any further plans.”

Miss Edwards stood and studied his face. He met her eyes, and schooled his expression into something he hoped resembled casual indifference. Who was he to care if she ever found herself at the Cooper estate or dinner table ever again? He considered it unlikely, for as soon as she left he would present the evidence to his grandmother that the entire plan was foolhardy in the extreme. He was sure he could convince Meemaw, as she was a reasonable woman, if given to flights of romantic fancy.

Miss Edwards watched him, as if she could read the very thoughts in his mind. She gave him a thin smile in response. “I suspect your theory may be correct, My Lady, but it will certainly take time to prove.”

“What theory?” he asked.

“Surely, My Lord, with your intellect you shall have it figured out before long. I’ll see myself out.”

As the door shut behind Miss Edwards, he did not even have to look at his grandmother to know her expression. He had seen it countless times before. But when he did finally raise his head, he was surprised to find that Meemaw was looking into her glass of brandy and appeared to be lost in thought.

Sheldon usually felt triumphant after he escaped these non-optional social conventions, but even he had to admit he did not on this particular occasion. Instead, he felt as if he had let his grandmother down in some very important way that he could not fully understand.

“I sometimes worry that I haven’t prepared you properly, Sheldon.”

“Whatever could you mean?”

“It’s just you and I, here. The last of the Coopers. Perhaps I’ve forced you to become what you are.”

“What I am?” He thought about what he was: a genius in every sense of the word, one of the leading minds of his age, and one who was set in his ways, which pleased him.

“Yes, dear. You’re lonely. Both of us are, even if I’m the only one of us that can see it.” His grandmother abandoned her glass without finishing it, a first in all the times they had dined together. She did not kiss his cheek or the top of his head, or even put her hand on his shoulder.

She left the room silently, and Sheldon pointedly ignored how big the room was with only him in it, and how quiet the house seemed, even though it was still midday. But most of all he ignored the new unfamiliar sensation that now resided in his chest, that seemed to echo every heartbeat, that said: _lonely, lonely, lonely, you are lonely, Sheldon Cooper_.

It was a long time before he retired to his study.

 

 

After a few weeks, Sheldon came to the conclusion that everyone had banded against him in this marriage plot. While he had not seen Miss Edwards since the luncheon, she had sent him a few tentative notes with little real content, which served as general reminders of her existence. She said nothing about how he had insulted her, and to his amazement, neither did his grandmother. His return correspondence never consisted of more than a few sentences on the most unimaginative of topics.

He had tried to settle back into the convenient and familiar schedule of long days at his university office, a late supper with Meemaw, and a brief rest. Yet when Koothrappali dressed him in the morning, he would ask after Miss Edwards and the contents of her latest letter. Sheldon had even overheard him discussing Miss Edward’s physical appearance with the new footman, Wolowitz (who so far had merely impressed him as an uneducated insolent toadstool that he’d most likely be forced to keep for his talent at fixing the septic system).

And his driver was no better. In fact, he was worst of all -- trapped in the coach for the hour it took to drive into London, the man would mindlessly chatter on as if they were friends, and as if Sheldon could even hear him over the clatter of the horses on dirt roads. This week he had even suggested Sheldon call him Leonard, as if Sheldon called anyone by their Christian name. Hofstadter was the worst of all, and Sheldon suspected the man had developed feelings for Miss Edwards himself. He repeated the brief words they had exchanged endlessly, as if his feeble mind still had not grasped that they meant nothing.

Sheldon finally gave in and asked for silence. He could tell by the tone in Hofstader’s formal response that his request had been impolitely worded, but Sheldon knew the limits of his patience and apparently the market on drivers was impossible. He felt he shouldn’t be forced to fire everyone simply because they wanted a lady in the house, no matter how foolish or misguided that desire was.

Sheldon found after five minutes of silence (as much silence as could be earned in a carriage pulled by horses) that his thoughts turned again and again to Miss Edwards. She was insufferably importunate, even in his own head.

“Hofstadter?”

Hofstadter turned his head to show he was listening, but the typical congestion of the roads leading into the city meant he could not give Sheldon his full attention.

“Are you familiar with the Adelphi Theatre? On the Strand?”

“Of course, sir.”

Sheldon hesitated. It was still early, most likely far too early for an actress to be at the theatre, but he found he had little choice in the matter. He had to put an end to this now, once and for all.

“I shall be making a detour there this morning, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

 

“I’m sorry, My Lord, Miss Edwards won’t arrive until eleven, at the earliest.”

“Surely you jest.”

“I’m afraid not. There’s a place up the street, if you need somewhere to wait. Good cuppa.” And with that, the door was shut unceremoniously in his face.

Infernal woman. Who was she to waste perfectly good hours of daylight, presumably sleeping? London was awake; stuffed with men and horses and carts, and the streets were dirty and the smells were awful, and Miss Edwards could at least have the decency to be at her place of employment at a reasonable time.

He waved off Hofstadter, who leaned back into his seat. At least simpler minds were content to wait.

 

Miss Edwards arrived at the theatre at half past eleven, looking slightly worse for wear. She did not greet him, merely gestured for him to be quiet and to follow her into the building. They walked through the lobby, around the side of the stage, and then into a long corridor until they came upon a room marked with her name. She entered without looking to see if he would follow, and when he shut the door behind him he realized it was the first time they had ever been alone together. The thought made him startlingly nervous.

“Does your grandmother know you’re here?”

“I was born in 1820, which makes me thirty one years of age. I believe I can go to a theatre without full consent from my grandmother.”

“I see,” Miss Edwards said, without inflection.

“I’ve come to tell you that while I appreciate whatever your arrangement is with my grandmother, the question of our engagement is not one that is up for debate. I will not be married.”

Miss Edwards looked unsurprised, and nodded to herself.

“And what of the Cooper name? And land? If you do not continue the line, what is to become of it?”

“I can hardly understand what concern that is of yours.”

“So you will admit that there is something you cannot understand?” Miss Edwards did not seem to be teasing him, but as per usual, he found himself completely unable to interpret her tone or countenance.

“Yes!” he exploded, the month’s worth of frustration and distraction finally overtaking him. “I cannot understand how you have taken up residence in my brain. I try to think about how Clausius has expanded upon the work of Sadi Carnot and find myself instead composing a useless letter to you about what I’ve done with my day so I don’t disappoint you.”

Her dressing room was a complete mess, but he threw caution to the wind and collapsed into the nearest chair. He heard what sounded suspiciously like a snap at his lower back, but he decided to ignore it completely It was her own fault for keeping the room in such a state.

He felt a light touch at the back of his neck, but it didn’t last for more than a second. In fact, he had probably imagined it.

Miss Edwards circled around the back of his chair, and then sat gingerly on the edge of a table buried under papers and used tea cups.

“You’d like to end the engagement?”

“Yes,” he said, and cursed the small moment of hesitation before he answered.

“If you can give me one reason we can both agree on to terminate my agreement with your grandmother, I will do it.”

“We have nothing in common. We are completely incompatible.” He gestured as if to say that this was only the tip of the iceberg.

Miss Edwards merely smiled in response. “If that’s the best you can do, My Lord, then I’ll see you later this week for supper.”

“You cannot speak Italian, French, or German. The one language you _can_ speak, you frequently butcher to the point of being unrecognizable. If you didn’t have to read your lines, I’d worry you were illiterate.”

Again, Miss Edwards was unaffected. “The Cooper charm is still unparalleled, I see.”

He wracked his brain for any of the number of complaints he had dreamt up over the past few weeks, and yet he found himself unable to voice any of them. He was outwitted at every turn by this woman. The proud tilt to his shoulders collapsed.

Miss Edwards recognized her victory, and rose to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, rehearsal starts momentarily and I must get dressed. Please tell your grandmother I look forward to Friday, if you could?”

Sheldon did the only thing he could think to do. He left.

(When she came to dinner that Friday, she swept her hand over his elbow as she passed his chair. This time he did not imagine her touch.)

 

 

Their engagement was announced on the eve of the opening of the Great Exhibition. His grandmother had protested that it would be lost in the excitement of it all, which had been Sheldon’s intention all along. Miss Edwards had deferred to his wishes on this count at least.

With that formality taken care of, his grandmother appeared content to leave him out of most of the wedding matters. Soon, the letters that came to the house in Miss Edwards’s untidy scrawl were addressed only to Meemaw, and were concerned with flowers and locations and other completely uninteresting details. He found it was easier to consider that he would soon be married when he did not actually have to talk to his bride-to-be. And yet, he missed her inane opinions on the weather and her constant descriptions of food she had consumed. He missed the notes that were signed, rather simply: Yours. He kept this opinion to himself, of course, as well as the knowledge that he was becoming accustomed to Miss Edwards’s presence in his life, even if it was somewhat grudgingly. (Or entirely grudgingly.)

At the start of June, he received an invitation from Miss Edwards to the opening night of her latest play. Sadly, even he recognized it was a social obligation he could not escape. While it was true that he did have an appreciation for the theatre, he did not want to show any weakness to Miss Edwards that he was coming around to accepting that they would indeed marry.

He was worried for all the wrong reasons.

Miss Edwards on stage was a thing of beauty. She held the audience in her hand, even though the source material was poorly written and the dialogue would have felt stiff and wooden if delivered by anyone else. She owned every inch of the entire theatre. He wished he could have managed a ticket closer to the front, so he could have better seen the emotions on her face. He wished he knew the custom to congratulate someone on a fine performance. Wasn’t it flowers, or the like?

After the final curtain call, he made his way to the side of the stage, and then explained his presence to one of the ushers, who escorted him back to Miss Edwards’s dressing room. The second visit was no different than the first; the mess was perhaps even greater than what he had first seen. This time he did not dare sit, but instead occupied his time by inspecting the framed illustrations she had hung on her wall. Tucked into one of the frames was a clipping from the _Times_. It was a review of _Frankenstein_ , of all things, and instructed audiences to watch out for the up-and-coming Miss Edwards of Platte River Valley, America.

Miss Edwards’s voice came from the doorway behind him. “Mr. Chambers warned me I had a visitor.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had been in a production of _Frankenstein_?”

Miss Edwards dropped a few things onto an already teetering pile of detritus on the table. She looked tired but happy. “I don’t frequently make it a habit to declare a list of all of my theatre credits to potential husbands. Most find it unnecessary.”

“Mary Shelley is my favorite author. It’s why I asked.”

“I’m not off-put by your sudden enthusiasm, merely slightly confused. You’ve always been dismissive of my profession.”

“You were magnificent tonight,” he said.

Miss Edwards reached for his arm, and placed her hand just above his wrist on his sleeve. He wished she had taken his hand.

A sudden jolt of nerves made him anxious to change the topic of conversation. “Have you ever read anything else by Shelley?”

“I don’t have much time for reading, to be honest. Between rehearsals and then the actual productions, there isn’t much free time in my line of work.”

Her hand hadn’t left his jacket sleeve. It was hard to focus anywhere else. “Her novel _The Last Man_ is my favorite. It’s set far in the future, and ultimately she suggests that scientists must not be timid, lest a catastrophic event occur and we are unable to solve it.”

“It all sounds rather bleak.”

“It is in a way. But it is an extraordinary work of fiction.”

“I must admit, My Lord, I am surprised that you are such a devoted enthusiast to the arts. It seems to fly in the face of your other interests and your position.”

“I find it gives me perspective, I suppose. I read quite a bit more than I take in shows. Although I must finally confess that I took note of you in _This House to be Sold_ , as well. I was just—”

“You didn’t want to admit that when we first met.”

“Well, no.” Miss Edwards smiled at his response.

“I consider it truly a shame that you will have to give up performing when we marry,” he said, almost as an afterthought. Miss Edwards’s hand dropped abruptly from his forearm.

“Your grandmother assured me that my career would not be affected.” Even Sheldon could tell her tone spelled trouble.

“Well, certainly as the new lady of the house, you would have obligations that would outweigh the theatre. And you obviously will not want for money, either now or when the arrangement is finalized.”

“And yet you would continue to work at the University.” It was not a question, but a resigned statement.

“They are two completely different occupations. How would this theatre print the Playbills; have you even considered that? The Right Honorable Viscountess Cooper in the starring role? Think of how it would reflect upon me. To not only have married an American, but one that continues to act in a common playhouse on the Strand!”

“I had an arrangement. One that was mutually beneficial to both of us, according to your grandmother.”

“Certainly as your future husband I have some say in the matter, Miss Edwards. You are not marrying my grandmother, last I checked.” His woeful attempt at a joke was clearly lost on her, as she walked across her dressing room to stand by the door.

“If these are your terms, then I will not be marrying you either, My Lord.”

“Miss Edwards—”

“I will not negotiate on this point. Either I am allowed to continue acting, or you leave here and continue your existence as a content bachelor who, as you told me many times, has no desire to marry.”

“Of course I have no desire to be married! But if I _must_ be married, and I have been told time and time again that indeed I must, then cannot you make your own compromise? It pales in comparison to my own, Miss Edwards.”

“These last few months have not been entirely unpleasant, My Lord. I ask that you leave now before my memories are spoiled so completely that I cannot remember why I might have been able to love you, at one point.”

“You—”

“Once again you wholly miss the mark, My Lord. Please convey my apologies to your grandmother.”

She shook her head at him as he once again tried to respond and to bring the conversation back to more solid ground, and gestured for him to leave.

It wasn’t until he was standing outside on the Strand, putting on his hat and looking for Hofstadter with the coach that he realized the full significance of how his conversation with Miss Edwards had ended.

His grandmother would not be pleased.

 

 

He wrote her letters. He apologized, although he knew he was too vague and that she would want clear and concrete words of contrition for asking her to leave the stage. He did not receive a single response. It did not take him long to stop writing. Even he could recognize a hopeless cause when it was presented to him so bluntly.

The summer and early autumn of 1851 passed much as summer and autumn of 1850 and the years before had passed; the routine of the University and the few events he was required to attend, and breakfast in the mornings with his grandmother. The house survived without Sheldon marrying, as he had always known it would. Meals were still served, rooms were still cleaned, and if he found himself out on the grounds considering how pleasant it would be to walk through the gardens and have a simple conversation, well, it was a small price to pay for maintaining the status quo.

His grandmother ceased all attempts at conversations about marriage, whether they pertained to Miss Edwards or any number of potential suitable young ladies.

(If Sheldon wished that his grandmother would talk about Miss Edwards, that was _certainly_ something he was not about to share with her.)

 

 

The Crystal Palace was still impressive, even after the multiple trips he had made to the Exhibition. The sheer size of it, the variety of the displays -- Sheldon was unsure just how many afternoons he had lost to wandering past the scientific equipment on display. It was one of the last afternoons he could spend at the Exhibition, and he had bundled himself with a scarf to guard against the chilly October air. He wanted one last glance at a particular microscope, and to review his notes on a demonstration that he knew was scheduled at four.

He would never be able to explain the particular urge he felt to wander past the American presentations on this afternoon, no matter how many times he was asked. Perhaps it was that he wanted to rest his feet for a few moments, before watching the demonstration for the cotton picker, or that Koothrappali had mentioned a Samuel Colt pistol he had been fascinated by. Whatever the reason, the end result was this: a girl, too familiar to ignore, standing in front of Hiram Power’s sculpture with her head bowed. He could have left her there, and she never would have known that he had seen her. And yet, as if compelled by some overwhelming instinct, he tapped her on the shoulder, and then Miss Edwards looked at him in a way that no woman had ever looked at him before.

Before he could say anything, not that he even knew what to say, she said, “I read your book.”

He floundered for a long moment before he understood what she meant. The last time they had discussed fiction, it had also been the last time he had seen her face to face. “ _The Last Man_?”

“Yes. I recall you telling me that you much preferred it over _Frankenstein_.”

The entire conversation was completely beyond him. He expected her to yell, to curse at him and say his apologies would never be enough, to turn away or command him to leave, not to talk calmly about literature. He wished he had had his grandmother here to translate, and then just as quickly, was glad he did not. He wanted this moment to be just between the two of them, for some reason he was unable to identify.

“What did you think of it?”

She smiled at him. “So The Honorable Lord Sheldon Cooper wants to know my opinion of a book? Is he sure he can manage to listen to the thoughts of an uneducated American? And a woman at that?” There was no bite to her tone, but her words still cut deep. He had said a number of things about her that he now deeply regretted.

“I sent you letters--”

“To apologize, I know. I saw them.”

“So you didn’t read them?”

“I didn’t need to. I know what they said, My Lord.”

He had imagined chance meetings just like this one, if he was being honest with himself. But in those concocted conversations, he wasn’t stumbling over his words, and Miss Edwards apologized for never returning his notes and being so unwilling to compromise, and in the darkest corners of his mind sometimes he wondered if it wouldn’t be too awful to be married after all. To have her at the house, at the table for breakfast while he read the newspapers, and then to meet her at the theatre when he was done at his office for the day, to walk the streets of London and sit companionably in the coach on the way back to their house. _Their_ house. And he had only dared to think, in the last moments before he fell asleep, that he and Miss Edwards could share more than a house, but share a bed as well. Most of all, he imagined that he could successfully set things right between them. To give himself some sort of a possibility that she might reevaluate him as Sheldon Cooper, the man, and not Sheldon Cooper, the lord in want of a wife.

“Miss Edwards, I’d like it very much if you would call me Sheldon.”

“I couldn’t, My Lord.”

“You can, Miss Edwards. Penny.” She gave no hint if he had broken any boundary of politeness with her. “If we are to have a second chance, one in which we properly get to know each other before making any arrangements, I’d like very much for you to call me by my name.”

“Nothing has changed, no matter how many months have passed.”

But something had changed, and he only had to prove it to her.

“Have you a role for a show, this winter?”

“Only a small part in _A Christmas Carol_ , Mrs. Cratchit. It’s not a very long run, merely a week.” He silenced the part of his mind that immediately revolted upon hearing that he would be forced to sit through Dickens.

“I’ll be there opening night. Just tell me the theatre and the time.”

She eyed him curiously, attempting to determine if he was serious, no doubt. “In the new year, I’ll have a more substantial role. The one I’ve always wanted to play.”

“Then I’ll be there opening night for that one as well. Who shall you be playing?”

“Beatrice. My first proper Shakespeare, not just a burlesque based on his works.”

Sheldon knew this was a chance to set things right, once and for all. “The Right Honorable Viscountess Penny Cooper as Beatrice. I was wrong, before. It sounds like a true Shakespearean actress. It suits you.”

“It does have a certain ring to it, I’ll admit.” Her words may have been cautious, but one glance at her face and Sheldon knew that while their past had not been erased, he had at least given them a chance at a real start. She smiled at him then, the first real one that had reached her eyes. “If I’m to play Beatrice, it’s only fitting you’re my Benedick. You certainly can be as dim, if not more so.”

 

Much later, as they walked the concourse of the Great Exhibition, his cotton picker demonstration completely forgotten, he finally remembered to ask her the question that she had never answered. “So what did you think of The Last Man?”

“Honest opinion, Sheldon?”

“Of course,” he said, and meant it properly for the first time.

“I thought it was utter shit,” she said, and kissed him.


End file.
